Chapter 15
SLOANE
When I arrive, Maggie is at the gate, waiting for me with two coffees.
Since I arrived, Maggie has never made me coffee. She makes lunch and brings me water but apart from that she's never offered me anything except instructions and criticism. I take the cup and wrap my hands around it.
"Thank you," I say. "You didn't have to do that."
"Don't make it a thing," she says. Then she looks me up and down. "Did you just roll in and out of bed like that or have you not slept at all?"
I look down at myself. The black dress. The sneakers. The exact outfit I wore last night. I know it looks silly and completely out of context here but I didn't have a choice.
"I forgot to wash one of my shorts," I say. "And the other pair wasn't dry yet."
Maggie frowns. "Wasn't dry from what?"
"From washing them in the shower. With shampoo."
She stares at me. "You wash your clothes in the shower."
"I don't have any other option. There's no washing machine at the motel and the nearest laundromat is in Cawley."
"Oh. I didn't realize you were —" She gestures at the dress. "I thought you had more clothes than this."
"I know what you're thinking," I say. "You're thinking, how does someone like me only have two pairs of shorts?
Well, my parents' housekeeper went to my apartment to pack for me while I was in jail.
And let's just say Irina's idea of practical doesn't quite match the reality of Duster.
Most of what she packed is either too warm or too dressy.
I don't own that many casual clothes to begin with and even Irina couldn't have imagined —" I wave my hand at the farm, the dust, the pig barn, the general situation. "This."
Maggie raises her brows. "Okay, that's not practical.
I honestly hadn't considered the laundry situation.
" She takes a sip of her coffee. "Bring your dirty clothes tomorrow morning.
You can put a load in my machine first thing and hang them on the line outside.
By the time you're done for the day, they'll be dry. "
I blink. It's such a simple offer. A washing machine and a clothesline. "Thank you," I say. "That would be — thank you." I turn toward the pig barn because that's where I go in the mornings. "Right well, I'll get started."
"Not today," Maggie says. "I'll do the barn today. Luis needs more help with the fence, he's hoping to get it finished before lunch." She glances at my dress again. "Do you want to borrow something to wear? I've got spare shorts and T-shirts. We're about the same size."
"No, it's fine." I tug at my dress. It's already stained so it really doesn't matter at this point.
"Suit yourself," Maggie says, and heads toward the chicken coop.
I hear the wheelbarrow coming around the side of the toolshed with a rhythmic squeaking — the wheel slightly off center, Luis behind it, pushing a load of tools. Posts, wire, pliers, a hammer, a box of staples, and work gloves.
He stops when he sees me. His eyes go from my face to the dress to the sneakers and back to my face. "Morning, Sloane," he says. "Ready to continue with that fence?"
"Ready."
He nods and pushes the wheelbarrow past me.
I follow him toward the fence line along the road.
The section we're working on is the part I hit — the stretch where the wooden posts splintered and Maggie patched it with whatever she had.
Up close in daylight, the rushed repair job looks desperate, with cable ties holding wire to posts that aren't straight.
I did this.
We pick up where we left off yesterday. Luis hands me the gloves and we fall into a rhythm — he cuts, I hold, he pulls, I stack.
"How long have you been volunteering here?" I ask, holding the fence taut while he works a staple free.
"Twelve years."
"Twelve years. Wow. Twice a week?"
"Sometimes more. Four days when Gloria was running it. We go way back. She and my wife were friends first, and then I started helping out after I retired." He moves down to the next staple. "Hold that steady."
I adjust my grip. "Gloria is Maggie's mother?"
"That's right. She started this place from nothing.
Just a few acres and a handful of animals nobody wanted.
Built it up over twenty years. She still helps with the books, the admin, the fundraising — that side of things.
But the physical work got too much for her a few years back.
She met a man in Cawley — Walt, good guy, retired teacher — and she moved in with him.
She comes by a few times a week to check in, make sure Maggie hasn't run herself into the ground.
" He pulls a post free and tosses it onto the pile.
"She's on vacation at the moment, up in Oregon.
But she'll be back soon so you'll meet her. "
"Great," I say. "I'm sure she's dying to meet the woman who drove through her life's work."
Luis laughs. "She'll come around. So will Maggie. Give it time."
"Time is literally the only thing I have."
"And you know what?" He pulls another staple and drops it in his pocket. "You might hate it here. But two months in a place like this — honest work, fresh air, no distractions — it's good for the soul."
"My soul was doing just fine before it got sentenced to Duster.
" I hear myself and wince. Luis doesn't deserve my sarcasm.
He's the only person in this town who's been consistently kind to me.
"Sorry. That was — I don't mean to be negative.
It's not all bad. At least I'm getting a real tan.
I've only ever had spray tans and those ruin the sheets. "
Luis shakes his head and smiles. "There you go. Silver linings."
A rustling sound comes from behind me and something nudges the back of my knee.
I flinch — I'm still not used to being approached by animals — but it's just a goat.
A small one, brown and white, with a wispy beard and eyes that are slightly too close together, giving her a look of permanent bewilderment.
"That's Beyoncé," Luis says. "Maggie's mother named her. Don't ask."
Beyoncé nudges my knee again and then trots past me and plants herself next to Luis. He reaches down without looking and scratches the top of her head.
"I rescued this one," he says. "Found her tied to a fence post off the highway about three years ago. Someone just left her there. No water, no shade." He scratches behind her ear and Beyoncé closes her eyes. "We've been friends ever since."
I crouch down to pick up a handful of staples that have fallen in the dirt and I'm barely on my knees when something lands on my back. Two hooves, then four, then the full weight of a small goat standing on me.
"What the —"
"Don't panic," Luis says calmly. "She does that. Likes to climb on things. Wheelbarrows, hay bales, people. You're just the nearest elevated surface."
A car approaches and slows down on the road. I hear a door opening and then the click of a camera.
I turn my head just enough to see while Luis tries to shoo Beyoncé off my back.
It's a Range Rover and a man with a long-lensed camera is taking pictures through the window.
Beyoncé jumps off me and I straighten myself and brush the dirt off my knees with shaking hands.
My heart is hammering and every instinct is telling me to shout at the photographer, but that's exactly what he wants. My angry face. The face of a villain.
"Hey, relax," Luis says, ignoring him. "You're not doing anything wrong. You're repairing a fence. There's nothing here to be ashamed of." He hands me a post and nods toward the hole we've dug. "Just keep working. This isn't a story."
I take the post, lower it into the hole and hold it straight while Luis packs the dirt around it.
"They'll get bored," he says. "Fence repair doesn't tend to go viral."